Eragon & the Evil Editorial Empire
by TheLegendOfSwords
Summary: Eragon will go to any length to publish his book, even if it means killing everyone who gets in his way.


**Eragon & the Evil Editorial Empire:**

This is the story of the author's self-insert character, I mean Aragorn, I mean Eragon.

Eragon and his BFFs entered the town of the Evil Editorial Empire where an army of fodder soldiers eagerly awaited to meet death at his blade just like how obese people eagerly wait in line for McDonalds. The streets were still bustling with innocent civilians, but he didn't have enough patience to wait for their dispersal. They would make for some good collateral damage.

Eragon raised his sword skyward, invoking Freudian symbolism. "Tonight we shall publish my book, even if it means we've got to kill everyone who gets in my way!"

Roran brandished his hammer and smashed in the faces of an innocent widow and her child, because he was such a great and noble hero. "How do you like that, you privileged white scum?!" After they were killed, he reached into their mouths, pulled out a handful of their loose teeth, and placed them into own mouth where he had lost his own teeth. He did this because he was too poor to afford dental care, yet paradoxically he could still afford expensive equipment.

Then there was Blodhgarm, who was a Tolkienesque elf who had magically modified himself to have blue fur (so basically he was a ripoff of Beast from X-Men, and possibly a closet furry). He had a long nail on each of his middle fingers, so he gave all the soldiers extended middle fingers and they fainted from being easily triggered.

Saphira the Dragon swooped down, ate the fainted soldiers, and then smiled like the smug prick that she was. _Death is a cold lasagna,_ she said, telepathically, as she ate her human lasagna.

Elva was acting all super depressing with her hair down in front of her face like that spooky girl from The Ring while Linkin Park music played in the background. Every soldier within her vicinity became so depressed that they committed Sudoku with their own swords.

Murtagh did all of the same things Eragon did, because he was basically a more emo version of Eragon. Also, he was fighting with a fork called Mister Stabby, because why the hell not.

Eragon's cousins, Hriffin, Dhimera, Vnicorn, and Gairy assisted in the battle, but they were basically just fanmade color swaps of Eragon that lacked an integral focus to the plot, and thus they were slain in battle.

"No, my cousins! You will be avenged!" cried Eragon as he sliced an innocent old lady's head off in hormonal rage.

Angela—the team's token quirky lady—sat on a rocking chair while knitting because she didn't need to fight. She had already conveniently poisoned many of the bad guys dinners earlier, and they were dying of the poison just now. "I would love to stay and help you fight baddies and whatnot, but I've got tea and crumpets to attend to. Cheers!" She entered a blue phone booth that was totally not the TARDIS from Doctor Who and it faded from existence.

(Reader: Is Angela a timelord?)

(Author: No comment.)

(Reader: You're not very good at subtlety.)

(Author: I'm writing from the heart! Your critiques don't matter!)

Arya slashed her opponents into pieces while dashing around at a hundred miles per hour like some kind of friggin' anime character.

Eragon finished off one of the ra'zac, but instead of being like a bird furry like they were supposed to be in the books, they were instead humanoid bags full of insects like in the Eragon movie, so basically like Oogie Boogie from The Nightmare Before Christmas. "Alright, that's the last of them. Let's move out!"

They approached a castle with a giant golden door. Its engravings depicted a ripoff of the world tree, Yggdrasil, from Norse mythology, as well as various races in war with each other, some of which were races that none of the party members were familiar with because the author was too lazy to go into detail about them, preferring to instead save them for sequels that would make a lucrative profit for no good reason.

Eragon shivered at the thought of what awaited them on the other side of the door. "Saphira, if we don't make it, I just want to let you know that I love you."

 _Eew, gross!_ said Saphira, telepathically, not approving of Eragon's dragon fetish.

The door swung open and they were admitted into a passageway. They followed it until they found themselves in the throne room. The king sitting on the throne bore a striking resemblance to the Varden's dead leader Ajihad, who I'm sure was totally a three-dimensional enough character for us to bother remembering his existence. (Spoiler Alert: No he wasn't.)

Next to the man was the shade, Durza, who basically looked like that zombie at the end of the K-Fee scary car commercial, which was really spooky back in the early days of YouTube when people were easily impressed by even the most amateur of talent.

Durza smirked at Eragon. "Ah, a young magician. . . . How moist," he said, pretentiously and perversely.

"He poses no threat to me," said the Ajihad lookalike. "As a traditional publisher, it is my duty to serve as a gatekeeper to prevent badly written fiction from reaching the hands of the press. He may be encouraged to challenge me, and I am not interested in being challenged." His eyes darted to a dusty copy of Dark Souls on his gaming shelf as if being reminded of a particularly challenging memory.

"Ajihad? Is that you?" asked Eragon.

"No, I am Ajihad's evil cousin, Acrusade, and I am here to rid this world of you hack job scum!"

"Not if I can help it."

"You think you can stop me, boi? There's no way a homeschooler like you is going to get his second-rate Lord of the Rings manuscript published in my press!"

"Maybe not, but I don't need your biased approval. With the power of self publishing, all things are possible, including: purple prose, stilted dialogue, awkward pacing, plagiarism, Gary Sues, unlikable characters, pointless plot threads, filler chapters, male power fantasies, wish fulfillment, clichés, generic fantasy tropes, inconsistencies, contrivances, and Deus Ex Machinas!" Eragon and his BFFs charged forward.

Durza teleported in front of each of Eragon's friends in quick succession and screamed in front of their faces like the scary car commercial zombie, giving them such intense jump scares that they fainted, leaving Eragon to fend for himself. Eragon pulled out his cellphone just as the shade popped up in front of him and, before it could scream, he played a music video of _Never Gonna Give You Up_ by Rick Astley.

"No! My true adversary!" This Rick Rolled Durza so hard that he exploded with a stock explosion effect so badly compressed and pixelated it resembled a GIF animation from the earliest days of the internet.

Acrusade unsheathed a sword as white as bone, which was just a nice way of saying that it was bland and generic. "You may be able to pass off all your flaws and market them as acceptable publishing quality with your homeschooled pass, but with The Sword of Copyright Claims, I shall strike you and your manuscript down!" He lunged forward, producing a war cry that sounded like a male opera singer.

Their swords clashed against each other many times, producing sparks of magic rainbow pixie dust, but then Eragon lost the upper hand when he was suddenly distracted by memories of Oromis' hairless body. Needless to say, he was so deep in the closet that he owned real estate in Narnia.

Acrusade's sword came swinging down towards his head but, instead of slicing through his skull, the blade rebounded and shattered into zero pieces. "No, impossible! Your manuscript has so much plagiarism! My sword should've sued your ass into oblivion!"

"Yes, but there are so many plagiarized sources that their copyright claims all cancelled each other out, thus shattering the sword!" Eragon thrust his sword into Acrusade's heart, killing him while he was defenseless, cause that was the noble thing to do.

Eragon finally got his book published.

It only got a 3/5 on Amazon.

Eragon regretted nothing.


End file.
